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Summary
the entrance areas of the ice palace emptied out long ago. only a few volunteers with lanyards dart from one wing to another, and security lazily checks phones at the checkpoint. will's been hovering by the turnstiles for like twenty minutes, his nose tucked into the collar of a hoodie pulled up nearly to his eyes. it's cold in milan — not like home, but bearable for february. especially when you've shown up without a car, without credentials, and without any real plan except a stupid desperate need to see a specific canadian face.
